Bones Shards
by Evening Rain
Summary: A collection of missing scenes and tags for Bones. Questions are answered, loose ends are tied up, and "what-if's" are explored.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

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The following is a collection of missing scenes and tags for _Bones_. The majority of these stories focus on Brennan and Booth's relationship. Each chapter was inspired by a different episode, and while my collection is _**far**_ from complete, I will continue adding to it whenever I get the chance.

Read the ones you're interested in; ignore the ones you're not. Be forewarned that in essence, this entire story in one big spoiler, so pay attention to chapter titles if you don't want to ruin any surprises. Please feel free to request specific episodes for future chapters, but also keep in mind that I won't force a story that isn't there: sometimes you just have to let the ideas develop at their own pace.

And now, without further ado, I hope you all enjoy _Bones Shards_.

~EveningRain

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**Disclaimer for all Chapters**: The characters and events portrayed in this story were all inspired by _Bones_; I own nothing.


	2. The Man in the Bear 1:04

**Cornflakes and Tattoos**

_**Inspired by Episode 1.4:**** The Man in the Bear**_ _(Tag for episode)_

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"You want some of my cornflakes?" she asked innocently, but his mind was still trying to block out the disturbing images of Charlie's 'well-shaped hips and thighs'. Booth made a derisive sound in the back of his throat before catching his partner's movement out of the corner of his eye.

Doing a double take, the agent froze in disbelief as Bones lifted her spoon invitingly, offering up her cereal with an air of absolute innocence. His partner, Dr. _Temperance Brennan_, the woman who despised all unnecessary contact and made it a habit to flip intruders of her personal space over a deceptively strong shoulder, was offering to spoon feed him.

He watched the utensil's approach with morbid fascination.

"Want some?" she offered again, bringing the dripping spoon closer. Booth suddenly snapped back to reality, and had to stifle a chuckle at her oblivious enthusiasm before raising an arm to block the looming utensil.

"No," he said firmly, eyes dancing with amusement.

"Are you _suure_?" she wheedled, dragging out the last word while swinging the cereal back and forth as if to entice him.

This time he laughed out loud, all snippiness disappearing form his voice. "No, Bones, I'm fine, really." Although it _was_ tempting…

She smiled, but the slight change in her eye color warned him she was about to become serious. "Seriously, Booth," she argued persistently, "This is the second time I've ruined you're eggs…I feel like I should compensate you."

He rolled his eyes good naturedly, pushing off of his barstool and straightening his jacket. "Actually," he smirked, "the deal was that if you bought me breakfast, I would consider letting you carry a gun…"

The spoon hit her bowl with an indignant _clank_. "What! Wait, Booth, that's not fair-"

"Ah, ah, ah," he held up his hands helplessly, backing towards the door with that insufferable smile she despised, "That was the deal, and to tell you the truth, I really couldn't eat another _bite_..." He sniggered at her scowl before the door to the diner chimed close behind him.

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Several people glanced at him skeptically, raising eyebrows as they sat waiting in the terminal. Booth crossed his arms as his stomach let out yet another growl loud enough to rattle the floor. Beside him, Bones smugly licked a finger before casually flipping another page in her book.

Their flight home had been delayed for eight hours and counting, and thanks to his little stunt this morning, Booth had yet to eat so much as a crumb today. Worse, he had accidentally packed his wallet in his checked bag, and was thus stranded in the airport with exactly 16 cents to his name: not even enough to buy a pack of gum.

About two hours ago, his empty stomach had begun to voice its displeasure, and no amount of military-discipline or self-determination would silence its angry roars. Bones, still miffed about the gun-snubbing, had raised an amused eyebrow at the first sounds of distress, but after shooting him a wicked grin, had settled down comfortably with a thick novel, munching innocently on a granola bar from her purse.

He squared his shoulders stubbornly, shooting his partner a death glare before sullenly returning his gaze to the floor. He was a grown man; he wouldn't stoop to begging for food. He could handle this, no problem. Think of all those sniper missions he had gone on where he went _days_ without eating.

His stomach yowled again, accompanied with a sharp cramp in his side. He flinched: yeah, and it had sucked back then, too...

Suddenly, his partner closed her book with a snap, turning to face him impatiently. "Oh come _on_, Booth. You've been suffering for hours, and quite frankly I'm beginning to find your gastrointestinal tract a little distracting. Just admit that you don't have any money and ask me to buy you dinner."

"I don't need you to buy me food," he protested obstinately.

She cocked an eyebrow, not buying his story for a second. "Fine," she finally said, smug smile back in place, "do what you want. _I'm_ going to go find some dinner."

He watched her walk away, sulking quietly as her retreating figure began to disappear into the crowd. Scrubbing furiously at his clenched eyes as another grumble wracked his frame, the agent finally acknowledged that before he could eat anything else, he would have to swallow his pride. Letting out a groan of self-pity, he hastily jumped to his feet.

"Bones, wait up!"

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She grinned at him across the table, unwrapping her vegetarian burrito and noting that not even airport food could ruin her good mood right now. "You know, I'm pretty sure this revives the 'deal'," she pointed out offhandedly.

"I was aware," he replied dryly, biting into his own burrito and silently commending himself on not weeping with joy as the food passed his lip. Military-discipline in action, baby.

Satisfied that her point had been acknowledge, Brennan settled in for a peaceful meal, and both partners ate in silence for several minutes, enjoying their food and each other's company.

Finally crinkling up her foil, Bones sat back in her chair, watching as Booth unwrapped his second burrito (the poor man really _had_ been starving) and dug into it with gusto. As she quietly observed him, her eyes happened across his exposed wrists, and her mind suddenly flashed back to an earlier conversation…

"What's so funny?" His voice snapped her out of her musings, slightly muffled around a mouthful of food.

"Huh?"

"You're smiling," He pointed a finger at her in mock suspicion, but his eyes were dancing playfully; the food had obviously returned his good humor.

"Was I?" she reached up self-consciously to touch her lips, "I was just thinking…"

"About…?" he encouraged, voice urging her on with well-practiced patience.

"Do you remember that day we were in the sheriff's office, and we spoke to Angela over the web-cam?" He nodded before taking another large bite of food. "She asked if you had any tattoos."

He snorted, "Yeah, and then you yelled at her."

"She was being unprofessional," came the quick, defensive reply.

"_No_, she was being _Angela_," he returned just as easily, shooting his partner a disarming smile. "And what's your point?"

"Nothing," Brennan clarified hastily, "I merely noticed that you _do_ in fact have tattoos." She nodded to the insides of his wrists.

"Ah," the agent looked down at the familiar kanji markings, pushing his sleeves up farther and offering both forearms across the table for inspection. "Yeah, I got these a long time ago, back in my Ranger days." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, "Why, you got a thing for tattoos, too?"

She made a point of ignoring his last comment. "What do they mean?" she asked instead, lightly tracing one of the designs with a finger. The small wave of goose bumps that broke out over his skin went unnoticed.

Clearing his throat, Booth watched somewhat endearingly as she scrutinized his flesh like some ancient artifact. "This one means 'soul'," he lifted the appropriate wrist, "and the other means 'destiny'," he wiggled the wrist currently in her grasp.

"Why _those_ words?" The blunt question triggered memories of a different conversation: '_I went down to shoot somebody through the heart from 1500 feet..._'

Sighing, he gently tugged his arms back, carefully rolling down the sleeves to conceal the markings from her questioning gaze.

"Because, Bones," he said softly, "sometimes we just need a little reminder."

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_Yes, those are the the actual meanings of David Boreanaz's__ tattoos...In real life life, they match his wife's tattoos, but I thought the meanings fit nicely with Booth's character_ _an__d past_,_ too_. _Let me know what you think!_


	3. Two Bodies in the Lab 1:15

**Wounded Soles**

_**Inspired by Episode 1.15: Two Bodies in the Lab** (Set slightly in the future) _

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It wasn't that she hadn't noticed before. Everyone has little tells: subtle movements and postures that act as clues to the trained eye. A slight limp, the favoring of one arm over the other, a posture than leans ever so slightly: no matter how many layers of tissue you hide it under, the skeleton will not be denied. Every crack, growth, and bump of your bones can be seen, if you only know how to look.

And she knew how to look.

It came as natural as breathing, her innate, almost compulsive cataloguing of humans. Angela had once sworn that she could look at someone and tell immediately if they were gay, straight, or right on the cusp ("gay-dar" she had whispered with a smirk). Well, _she_ could tell if that same person had ever broken a bone, suffered from osteoporosis or rheumatoid arthritis, or experienced a traumatic injury. "Bone-dar". So there.

But _he_, as usual, was a difficult specimen to figure out. Of course he threw signs left and right: a stiff back here, and sore knee there…the usual wear-and-tear was obvious, and was made sense considering his military background. But then there were the other clues, the restless shifting of his weight, the awkward gait that occurs when you want to limp with both legs. These were the tells that intrigued her, not because they were unusual, but because one day they were there, and the next they vanished into thin air.

There was something missing, some allusive piece that would bring all the hints together when she discovered it. She was always on the lookout, inconspicuously filing away as many mannerisms as possible when he wasn't paying attention. But it was always just out of reach, just beyond her sharp eyes.

And then, just like that, she found it. Not in some poorly concealed wince or a sudden shuffle of feet, but in a plain, unsuspecting manila folder. Sometimes she wished she'd never looked.

It wasn't her fault: a more irresistible temptation could not have existed, not even if someone had designed it specifically for her. Everyone has that little fantasy that entices them, a daydream they escape to when things get too frustrating. Rational and intelligent as she was, she was no exception to this rule.

When the convoluted analogies and obscure pop-culture references of casual conversation overwhelmed her (which they often did), she let her imagination loose. In her mind's eye, people were stripped down to their bones, laid out on a pristine lab table, and examined from head to toe. Somewhere in the calcium deposits and bone matrix, the answers would reveal themselves, and suddenly she would understand _everything_. Then she would just slide them back into their skin, zip them up, and presto: life was easier.

And so, as she sat in the hospital agonizing over _why_ her partner insisted on repeatedly flirting with death on her behalf, it was only natural that one of these fantasies crept up. And while she mourned the improbability of getting her hands on his actual bones, the next best thing suddenly caught her eye.

Just sitting on the counter in a plain, unsuspecting manila folder.

It wasn't that she hadn't noticed before. Everyone has little tells…and suddenly his made sense.

The restless shifting of weight from foot to aching foot. The awkward gait as they headed for his car after a long afternoon in the field. The reason why rainy days made him irritable. Her eyes widened as the pieces fell into place, the terrible proof clutched in her hands, the tiny black fissures on white hurting something deep in her chest. Sometimes she wished she'd never looked…

* * *

Three weeks later, she glances at the overcast sky, feeling the heavy humidity in the air, and then looks to his shuffling feet. Back and forth, back and forth goes his weight. He scowls at a nearby agent, crossing his arms impatiently. Back and forth. Back and forth. She throws her meticulous protocols to the wind and focuses instead on getting the job done as quickly as possible.

Forty minutes later, they are in the car back at the Jeffersonian. "Coming in?" she asks lightly, reaching for her seat belt.

"Nah, I've got some stuff to take care of," comes the gruff, predictable response. He's planning his escape, getting ready to bolt for his office to lick his wounds in private.

"Just for a minute? I've got something I want to show you." He hesitates, trying to find a way out, but she anticipates and presses persistently, "Please?" She gives him the look.

A sigh, followed by the click of a seat belt being unfastened: she grins at the sounds of her success. "Alright," he relents, opening the driver-side door, "but just for a minute, I can't stay."

They reach the privacy of her office, and she heads for her desk. "Have a seat," she nods to the sofa, knowing the promise of respite will be irresistible, "I just need to find it." His sigh of relief after sinking into the couch is the only response she receives.

Several minutes later, tired brown eyes open to the site of her carefully setting a heated footbath on the floor before him. "What is-?"

"I picked it up at a store the other day, and I was hoping you'd try it out for me," her tone is casual but the words are rushed, laced with apprehension. She finds she is unable to meet his eyes, and her stomach flutters nervously as she remains kneeling on the floor by his feet, her head slightly bowed. She's never been good at giving gifts…

He remains silent. Carefully, she reaches out and tugs at the laces of his dress shoes, a little worried that he'll pull away. He doesn't. They slide gently off. She hesitates at the socks, feeling slightly embarrassed. The action of pulling them off and touching the bare skin beneath seems strangely…intimate. After another long pause, the socks join his shoes in a neat pile on the floor.

She finally gathers the courage to look up at him, and it nearly takes her breath away. He is watching her intently, eyes burning with unspoken emotions. Gently, she takes his right foot in her hands and lowers it into the warm water. The left foot follows just as carefully.

His eyes instantly close with relief, and he lets out a soft groan of appreciation. Smiling, she slowly straightens up and heads back to her desk, pulling out a file and busying herself with it. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that his head has tipped back in pleasure and his breathing is slow and even.

The minutes roll by.

"Thanks, Bones," his eyes are still closed, but a small smile graces his lips; it's the first one she's seen all day.

"It'll be here, whenever," she tells him lightly, never looking up from her file. He lets out another contented sigh in response.

The minutes roll by.

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_Comments? Critiques? Review!_


	4. Killer in the Concrete 2:18

**Tunnel Vision**

_**2.18: Killer in the Concrete** (Missing scene in the hangar) _

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Brennan never really understood the concept of "tunnel vision" until she met Special Agent Seeley Booth. After all, the brilliant anthropologist had dedicated her life to seeing the big picture; to carefully checking every intricate detail and then putting them together to construct a larger,indisputable truth. Focus was one thing, but the concept of being physically incapable of tearing your eyes away from one particular object was completely absurd.

When Booth barreled into her life, he quickly started on a task that seemed to come as naturally as breathing to him: turning Brennan's structured, tidy world on its head. He touched things that shouldn't be messed with. He continuously asked obnoxious questions. He told her she was _wrong_, and then had the audacity to back up his own arguments with unscientific theories and 'gut feelings' that somehow always turned out to be right!

For all of these reasons, Brennan knew she shouldn't have been surprised to find yet another hole poked into one of her core beliefs. Tunnel vision was a malady of the weak-minded, and something she would never succumb to? Hah! Wrong. And god, how she was growing tired of being wrong…

She wasn't sure the first time it happened. Obviously they had been in the field…maybe it was her very first case, when Ken held up the lighter? Or when they spotted Farid in the cultural center with the bomb? One thing was clear: tunnel vision was not only real; it was a frequent occurrence in the field.

Brennan had noticed a familiar pattern developing with her newly acquired tunnel-vision-goggles: zero in on alarming situation, locate her partner, ensure safety of self and said partner, and then slowly begin returning to the rest of the world again. She knew this over-dependence on another human being should be troubling, but quite frankly, she found any reliable pattern in her life comforting at this point…

And so, as she ran into the air hangar behind her father and quickly located her target, Brennan not only recognized but _welcomed_ her oncoming blinders. Images flickered momentarily before her eyes: a screwdriver tipped with what looked disturbingly like blood, a hoodlum flying through the air (accompanied by a momentary surge of pride for her partner's efforts), her father lunging forward, another large man bolting. But these pictures swiftly faded into obscurity with the rest of the hangar.

All that remained was Booth (who was conveniently playing the role of partner _and_ alarming situation, today).

She was already rushing forward, dropping to her knees at her side, one hand going to his arm and the other supporting her weight as she leaned over him. "Booth!" Her eyes rapidly scanned him over as relief that he was alive and concern for his battered condition warred in her head.

"Hey Bones, right on time," he wheezed, eyes pained but grin genuine.

More scenes flickered on the borders of her attention: a man with a screwdriver in his chest, her dad asking for her car, Booth's indignant noise of protest when she gave it to him…

"Lie still," she ordered, hand ghosting over him as she continued her damage tally.

"I'm fine," he protested stubbornly, pulling awkwardly against his bindings and the chair. "Just cut me loose."

"You're not fine," she argued evenly, applying slight pressure against his battered chest. His angry hiss confirmed her suspicions. "Broken ribs," she noted, ignoring the eye roll she got in return.

"Could have _told_ you that, Bones. You didn't need to abuse me…" his irritable grumbling trailed off, but she could hear the resignation in his voice as he stopped struggling and let her get her examination over with. She noted that there were definite advantages to having him bound…

The TAC team arrived in a flurry of flashing lights and stomping boots. "Get an ambulance," she ordered, ignoring the small arsenal that was being aimed in her direction as she discovered the ugly wound on Booth's leg. "My partner needs medical attention!" She gently touched the inflamed skin around the burn.

"_Hey_! _Watch_ it, Bones. That's tender!"

"This looks serious," her eyes met his with a flash of worry. "How did this happen?"

"Don't worry about it. _**OW**_!" he jumped and pulled sharply against the tape holding him to the chair. "I _said_ don't _**touch**_ it!"

She flinched, pulling her hands away at his tone and turning back to the TAC team instead. "Somebody get me a knife." She quickly set to work cutting through the tape, peeling it as gently as possible from his wrists and guiding his legs down from the chair slowly so he didn't jar the injury.

A stretcher had materialized next to them, and two EMT's were squatting on either side of her partner. "Agent Booth, can you stand?"

"Yeah," he wheezed, pulling himself up to a sitting position and cradling his abused ribs with both arms, "just give me a sec…"

With a little bit of help, they got him standing, then sitting on the stretcher. "Can you give us a summary of any injuries you sustained?"

Bones opened her mouth to respond, but was surprised when her partner began rattling off a thorough, well organized report of his own. She stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder for support as he listed off the cracked ribs, the wound on his inner thigh, and the nasty looking gash on his forehead. "And all the other 'icing'," he quipped, gesturing to the myriad of cuts and bruises that littered his face and chest.

One EMT knelt on the ground, cutting off Booth's pant leg and examining his leg as it dangled off the side of the stretcher. "Puncture wound is pretty deep, but the bleeding is under control," he noted to his partner. "It seems to have been cauterized…" he trailed off, raising an eyebrow at the agent.

"Weapon's in that guy's chest," Booth gestured with his chin at the stretcher across the room, where a different team was working on his impaled attacker.

"A screwdriver?" The EMT grimaced. "How did he-?"

"Blowtorch." The answer was short and left no room for further questions. His eyes flickered towards Bones, worried about her reaction. Noticing his glance, the anthropologist kept her face carefully neutral, but inside she seethed furiously.

The EMT cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Alright, Agent Booth, it looks like you're stable. We'll need to take you back to the hospital and check the full extent of damage to your leg, and you'll probably be on crutches for a while."

The other paramedic spoke up, "Unfortunately, we need to wait for the second ambulance to arrive before we take you in; the chest wound takes priority." In the entranceway, they could see a stretcher being hurriedly loaded into the first ambulance, an EMT slamming the door before hustling to the driver seat. "Just hang tight, we'll come get you when the second bus gets here. We can wrap those ribs on the ride over."

He nodded quietly, leaning back against the partially raised back of the stretcher with a sigh.

Bones hovered awkwardly at his side as the paramedics headed outside, leaving them alone for a moment. "How are you feeling?" She asked tentatively, grimacing at the stupidity of her own question.

He turned his eyes tiredly towards her, but offered a charming smile. "I'm fine, Bones. How about you? That was a pretty dramatic entrance, there."

She blushed. "We wasted so much time trying to find you…once I knew for sure where you were, I just..." she trailed off, at a loss of how to explain the churning emotions she had felt as they headed for the hangar.

"You just wanted to play hero," he teased gently, trying to lighten the mood.

She snorted derisively, "Playing hero is an alpha male tendency, Booth. It's not an instinct females typically experience in high stress situations."

"So what type of instincts do 'females typically experience'?" Booth said with a roll of his eyes, pursuing the conversation good-naturedly.

Her eyes grew serious as she watched him quietly, sadness and guilt mixing in their cerulean depths. He felt something in his chest pull. "Females that live within social networks normally experience strong feelings of protectiveness for their kin," she spoke softly.

He watched her carefully for several moments, expression unreadable, before reaching out his arms with a wince (his ribs were left unsupported and painfully extended) and pulling her into a fierce hug. She resisted, worried about hurting his already battered chest, but he refused to loosen his grip and she finally gave in, wrapping her arms around him just as tightly.

"I'm just glad your safe," she murmured in his ear.

He chuckled lightly, and she felt the soft rumble in his chest. "I knew you'd find me."

With his warm arms wrapped securely around her and his reassuring voice in her ear, something in Brennan's chest loosened. Booth was safe. They were _both_ safe. Slowly, the rest of the world began to come back into focus…

She suddenly pulled back from the embrace, a mixture of alarm and amusement dancing across her face. "Oh! Speaking of me 'finding you', there are a few things we need to go over before your debriefing…"

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_This was actually the first installment I ever wrote for this collection. Thoughts?  
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	5. Santa in the Slush 3:09

**Christmas Games**

_**3.9: Santa in the Slush **(missing scene)_

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"Whoa, hey! Hold it!"

"Sorry Cherie, I've got things to do."

"_Caroline_." His voice was warning.

"Boy, you do _not_ want to take that tone with me," she stopped abruptly, spinning to face him. Crossing her arms across her chest, she raised an impatient eyebrow and let the full force of her impressive aura roll over the irate agent before her.

But he was not going to be cowed today. She could see it in the stubborn line of his jaw, the defiant set of his shoulders, and the dangerous glint in his eye. A grudging respect mixed with her annoyance; _this_ is why she put up with Seeley Booth. Because underneath all the playful grins and cajoling, the man had a backbone.

"Caroline, what the hell was that about!"

"Well, I'm sure I don't know."

"Oh, don't _even_-"

"Look cherie, all I was looking for was an innocent chuckle. I figured the good doctor would give you an awkward peck and then we'd get to laugh while your silly ass stumbled around with a dazed grin for a couple days. I had no idea she was gonna do _that_."

Booth flushed, but his glare was still sharp. Letting out a sigh of frustration, he began walking at a slower pace in the direction she had been headed, and she fell easily in step beside him. "Listen Caroline, you can't pull these kinds of stunts with Bones. She's not like…other people; she doesn't understand how these little games work."

"It sure didn't _look_ like she was playing games," the older woman intoned.

That earned her another dirty look, and Caroline was suddenly reminded of the man's lethal past. "You don't get it, do you?" He spoke lowly, eyes fixed straight ahead. "With Bones, there _are_ no games. She might be the most brilliant mind in this whole building, but there are certain things she doesn't understand, and that makes her easy to manipulate." He turned to give her a pointed look. "It also makes her easy to _alienate_."

"Duly noted," came the dry response. "Now, if you don't mind, you were not my only appointment today. That is, unless you want to yell at me some more?" It was her turn to give a pointed look.

His anger spent, Booth finally relented, flashing her a tentative, slightly sheepish glance. He didn't apologize; he wasn't sorry for defending Bones. But Caroline accepted his silence and sent him back a long-suffering roll of the eyes.

"Boys," she groused, heading for the elevator, "one little kiss from a pretty girl and they go all to pieces."

He stared at his reflection as the elevator doors slid shut. Lips slightly swollen, face flushed, tie askew: yeah, a few of his pieces might indeed be out of place. But Caroline had been wrong about one thing. He allowed the boyish grin he'd been holding back to spread slowly across his face.

That was no '_little'_ kiss…

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_Just a short one to tie up loose ends. Because you **know **Booth wouldn't have taken that lying down..._


End file.
